curtain call
by lauren lachrymose
Summary: So he rises to his feet at the large palace doors, and readies himself for the demon decked in red.


**a/n: **I'm not sure if I like this or not, but I decided to post it anyway.  
The only one I don't really like is Toph's, but I'm too lazy to change it now.  
They go in chronological order, by the way. It's not all happening at the same time.  
Oh, and it takes place during their final battle with Ozai. Just so you know. :)

**- - -**

The sky is deceptive in its early-morning splendor. Blues, reds, greens, and yellows all mesh together until the lines between them are blurred completely, casting the landscape in an almost ethereal glow. It's beautiful, but wrong, and makes Katara want to cry.

Because it reminds her of the unity they're striving for, the unity she's not sure she'll ever see.

But now is not the time for nervous little girls and their childish butterflies, so she stands and tries her best to ignore the brush of wings against her stomach. Her hands ball themselves into fists; the hands that will harm instead of heal today.

Katara's a warrior, a woman to be feared.

(_Or that's the lie she tells herself to quell the pounding in her chest_)

**&**

Cries of welcome and familiar laughter crowd the ears of the earthbender. They push and shove each other, stuffing themselves in further until Toph wishes she was deaf instead of blind.

Not because the noise level is too high; on the contrary, the rag-tag team is conversing rather softly.

But because it all sounds so very _wrong_.

Each heartbeat thuds nervously in sync with the other; one big happy family (_one big honest lie_).

The paradox of it all is not lost on her.

**&**

Déjà vu grips the young man dressed in varying shades of blue and gray as he fights his way through the enemy's capital. Every yell, every sound of clashing weapons does nothing to stifle the feeling.

_And to think I did this same thing only weeks ago._

But this time, he's ready. This time, there's no getting distracted or falling back. Because this time, there is no plan B, no 'we'll try it another day'.

This is it.

There is more at stake now than ever before (_more pieces of his heart that he has to retrieve_).

So Sokka sees and feels nothing as he swings his blade back and forth; nothing but the color of her eyes and the softness of her hair.

(_Suki_.)

**&**

A savior, a messiah, a redeemer. He tries out each of these words, swishing them around in his mouth, but none of them taste just right. He is none of these things, not now, not today. Today, he is a boy, a _child_ with the salt of the world's tears on his brow and the weight of the world's mistakes on his shoulders.

And it hurts.

It hurts, and he cries out with each crack of Destiny's whip, hard across his back. (_He has the scar to prove it_).

But the world doesn't need another broken boy, another suffering man.

So he rises to his feet at the large palace doors, and readies himself for the demon decked in red.

And when the Fire Lord's eyes fix on the figure in the doorway, Aang is nowhere to be found. It's the Avatar who stands there, a force to be reckoned with.

A savior, a messiah, a redeemer.

**&**

The prison cell is darker than he would have imagined. There is no fire, here. No light, no warmth. Only strangled sobs and haunted eyes belonging to people too _good _to be prisoners of war.

(_But the Fire Nation is sideways and backwards and upside down, as evil reigns and kindness suffers_).

"I know you. You're the prince of this wretched kingdom," the man's voice is hoarse and cracked, but his hand is strong as he reaches out to hold the devil's spawn in place. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Zuko parts his lips to speak, but the words are held back in his throat as a familiar flash of blue dances in the prisoner's eyes. The name of a girl is brought to the forefront of the ex-prince's mind, and for the briefest of moments, he wishes he could cry.

But weakness is not an option, now.

"Probably for the same reason you are," the younger man replies, his heart beating a determined pattern in his chest.

And later, when a girl appears in the dimly lit room, a rusted key swinging from her fingertips, the two prisoners can't help but smile. (_Although Hakoda's smile is a confused one as he sees his daughter embrace the scarred prince, relieved laughter decorating the air around them_).

Because now, it is over.

"We _won._"


End file.
